Peter Hook
by Enola
Summary: Companion to the Kidnapped Series: A collection of short stories about Peter Hook's life between Captive and Found.


Peter Hook  
Commitments – the morning after the end of Kidnapped: Captive  
  
Peter opened his eyes lazily, too comfortable to want to wake up all at once. He was warm, lying in his father's arms. He was loved, the comforting embrace making him feel complete for the first time since he'd awakened only days ago with no memory of anything. His lost memories left an aching void in his soul, making him feel somehow less real. His father filled that hole, and the emptiness wasn't as terrifying knowing the man was there.   
  
Peter took a deep breath, inhaling his father's scent, committing it to memory with his few other memories: the man's voice, touch, heartbeat, face, the feel of his emotions. The boy feared that he might forget again one day, and he hoped that if he memorized his father so that he'd know him without thought, then he'd never forget the man again… never be lost again.  
  
He turned his head slightly and saw his father's face so close to his own, peaceful in sleep. He stared, committing the lines to memory, closing his eyes again so that he could rebuild the image in his mind's eye. He focused especially on minute details like wrinkles and scars. When he felt that he was successful, he smiled and looked at his father again, this time reaching out to gently caress the weathered face with one small hand. The skin was rough, the muscle beneath it hard, giving Peter the strange idea that his father had spent too much of his life frowning.  
  
At the soft, gentle contact, Hook awoke to see blue eyes staring at him intently. At first, his reaction was to push the boy away, aware of how dangerous Peter Pan was. But before he could do something so foolish, memory asserted itself. Peter Pan was gone forever. This was his son now, Peter Hook – a child he loved and that inexplicably loved him back. The momentary scowl bloomed into an amused smile and he remained still to let the boy explore his face with his hand. "Good morning, my son," he murmured, savoring the taste of the words "my son".  
  
Peter returned the smile, his face lighting up. 'I like seeing Father smile. I'll do my best to make him always smile at me like that.' "Good morning, Father," Peter returned, tracing the man's smile with his finger tips.  
  
"Whatever are you doing, Peter?" Hook asked, becoming a bit uncomfortable with the excessive contact. Affectionate touches and gestures had been rare in his life. This open and honest display from his former nemesis was foreign to him.  
  
"I'm learning you," Peter whispered. "Maybe if I try hard enough, I'll remember you from before. But mostly I want to learn you so that I'll never forget you again." Peter sighed and removed his hand. "I'm so lost and you're all I have. I'm afraid to lose you."  
  
Hook chuckled and the laughter gave Peter heart. "You are mine, Peter, and I'm a selfish man. I'll never lose you and I'll never let you go." He put his hook to Peter's breast, over the boy's small heart. "We are connected, bound by an unbreakable link. Even if we both were to forget everything and be separated by miles, we'd feel each other and find each other. And we'd know we belonged together even if we knew nothing else." Hook didn't know this for certain. Ever since he'd taken Peter, they'd been within a hundred feet of each other. But as he said the words to reassure the boy, he felt them to be true.  
  
Peter felt a lot better hearing this, knowing somehow his father spoke the truth. He nodded and sat up, stretching his cramped muscles. He hadn't been this awake since the first time he woke on the island, and his body ached for activity. "I'm hungry and I'm tired of being in bed. I want to explore some more." The idea of poking around the cabin and learning about the interesting-looking things there was irresistible, and his curiosity burned hot within him. He grabbed Hook's claw, tugging it insistently in an obviously futile effort to pull the man up, bouncing on the bed with impatience. "C'mon daddy, time to get up!"  
  
Hook smiled at the boy's enthusiasm, which normally would have irritated the hell out of him. He was too relieved to see the boy recovered this much to be upset. Peter was acting unusually childish, even for a ten-year-old, but Hook attributed that to the current blank slate the boy's mind was in. The old Peter had been fairly repressed and quiet while he was on the ship, and never showed this kind of unbridled happiness. It was a surprisingly refreshing change, and made Hook feel again that this was the best course for them both.  
  
As he lay there watching the bundle of energetic mischievousness, Hook began to get a sinking in his stomach. He began to realize the full implications of having a son. By declaring Peter as his child, he'd made a lifetime commitment to this boy. A lifetime of joy and pain, and the awful responsibilities and expectations he'd be burdened with for that lifetime. His son – he'd have to take the good with the bad, caring for and protecting this boy for the next seven or eight years until Peter could stand on his own. But even as an adult, Peter would look to him for guidance.   
  
'What have I gotten myself into?' He'd planned on growing Peter Pan up, but forcing that boy to mature out of spite was a far cry from raising a son. He couldn't simply ditch the boy when he got tired of him, now. But when he saw again the happiness, the innocence, in Peter's face, his curiosity in his new world and his love for the man he called 'Father', Hook's doubts evaporated like fog in the sun. Whatever trials Peter put him through, he'd face them and cherish the memories, both good and bad. Childhood was fleeting, and Peter now had oh-so-little of it left to him.  
  
He sat up at last, causing Peter to topple backwards as the resistance he'd been pulling against disappeared. Hook laughed and pulled the boy back up, clasping his shoulder to keep him from resuming his bouncing. "Come on then. Get dressed and we'll have breakfast. I have such wonderful things to show you."  
  
Peter beamed at the man then leapt forward to embrace him tightly. He planted a loud kiss on the rough cheek before leaping out of the hug to fetch his clothes.  
  
Hook stared in shock, the place where Peter had kissed him sending warmth into his heart. Then he smiled again. 'Everything will be all right.'  
  
  
While he shaved, Hook watched Peter in his mirror, smiling in amusement as the boy worked his way around the cabin. Peter was intent on finding things he recognized, searching for more anchors to moor him to his life. Hook knew the boy wouldn't find much – even after the three months of the boy living in the cabin, the room was still exclusively James Hook's. Peter hadn't had occasion to acquire any property of his own, and the only things that were his were the bed, a few clothes, his pipes and dagger. Hook had been selfish with his own possessions, and the child had been expressly forbidden to touch most of the items in the room unless he was cleaning or fetching. 'That will change now. I'll spellbind him with stories of how I acquired my treasures. He'll learn to use my navigation tools and he'll read all my books… except for my logs.' Hook decided he should hide all those books of his sojourn in Neverland, to keep the boy from reading about his prior life.  
  
As he watched the boy peruse item after item, he began to realize other obligations he now had – Peter needed proper clothes, clothes that befit the progeny of James Hook. At the first decent sized port town the came to, Hook was taking the boy to a tailor. 'I suppose I'll be celebrating Christmas again, with presents. And then there's his birthday every year… should I keep it at the date I stole him, or make it the date he awoke as my son?' Hook decided that the latter would be too much of a coincidence for Peter to believe, and stuck to the day he broke the boy from Neverland. 'What other holidays do children look forward to? Would Jukes know? He hasn't had much of a childhood… that will change too. Peter needs a child to play with.'   
  
James's birthdays in his childhood had been rather dull. There was a special, formal meal, followed by a long lecture from his mother about how grateful he should be for all the sacrifices she'd made and for the pain she'd endured to give him life. Christmas had been worse – two days of devout prayer, hours in the church and more hours at home listening to the entire life of Christ. It was one of the reasons he was devoutly agnostic now. Neither holiday had earned him gifts beyond shoes or gloves. Hook frowned as he considered his course in that matter. He didn't want to spoil the boy, not by a long shot. Peter Pan had been spoiled enough to last a thousand childhoods, and there was no way in hell he'd let Peter Hook affect Pan's manner. Spare the rod, spoil the child, and as much as he loved Peter, he would punish the boy if he stepped out of line. But neither did he wish to damn his son to the same dreary childhood that he had endured.  
  
"Father?" Peter called, breaking the man from his thoughts. "What's behind this?"  
  
Hook turned to see Peter standing before the curtains that hid his mother's portrait. "That," he said as he finished his toilet and wiped his face dry, "is a memorial to my dear mother." He went to Peter, smiling proudly. "She's your grandmother, and her name was Elizabeth. Her portrait is behind here."  
  
"Can I see her, Father?" Peter asked excitedly. He was anxious to see her, to look upon another member of his family. "Was she nice? Did she love me? When can I meet her?" he babbled.   
  
"Hush, boy," Hook growled. Peter was bouncing again, and it was making him dizzy to watch. "She never met you, she died before I had a son. Nice isn't a word that fit her… she was a good, proper English lady and I loved her dearly." He opened the curtains to reveal the portrait and waited for more questions. Peter's reaction stunned him.   
  
The boy gasped when the curtains parted. The first thing he saw were the eyes, boring down into him, filled with anger and malice. Useless, worthless, disappointment – they conveyed that condemnation to the boy. Peter cringed, expecting a hand to strike him. The sneer of contempt registered next, looking down on him as if he were a piece of filth. He could almost hear her cold haughty voice: 'Bastard brat! I sacrifice for you, I give you everything, and this is how you repay me? You make me sick!'  
  
"I'm sorry mummy!" Peter screamed, "I'll be better I promise! It wasn't me, it was Jasper!"  
  
"Jasper?" Hook whispered, confounded by the stark terror he felt in Peter. He startled when Peter's hands flew up, as if warding off blows. Then the child began to scream. Hook lifted the terrified boy up and tried to soothe him with soft reassurances and a loving embrace. Peter's arms wrapped around his neck and held to his father for dear life. He buried his face in the man's neck, trying to hide from the cruel woman. "Mummy, don't send me away like you sent Jasper away," he sobbed.  
  
"Oh, Peter," Hook groaned, a suspicion forming in his mind about what may be happening. He closed the curtains to hide the portrait again and carried his son to a chair. He sat with Peter in his lap and began to rub the boy's back gently. "You're Peter, not James. She isn't here, and she can't hurt you. It's just a memory, Peter. Listen to me, I'm your father. I love you and I won't let her hurt you." He continued to murmur softly, affirming to the boy that what he'd seen wasn't real.  
  
Smee opened the door and raced in, looking around in panic. "Cap'n? Th' lad, we heard 'im scream. Ya dinna hurt 'im again?"  
  
"No, Smee," Hook said calmly, careful to keep his voice pleasant. "He had a bad dream. Bring him something warm to drink." The old man nodded and left quickly. Noticing that the boy had quieted, Hook looked down to stare at the tear-streaked, puffy face looking back at him. "Better, Peter?"  
  
Peter nodded and wiped his face with his sleeve. "What happened, Daddy?"  
  
"I'm not sure… I think it was a memory."  
  
"I remembered her? You said she died before I was born," Peter said, confusion pain in his face.   
  
Hook shook his head, thinking. 'I'm sure you were playing tag with clouds when my mum was a twinkle in my grandfather's eye.'  "You didn't remember, Peter. I think you saw one of my memories."  
  
"Is that normal?" Peter asked. It was strange, having to ask his father if things were normal or not. How many things would he have to relearn about himself?   
  
"No, its not normal. You've never done that before."  'Though, if I can see the worst of his nightmares, perhaps this isn't so strange after all. Dreams, memories, they're the same stuff.'  Perhaps it was strong emotion that propelled images across their bond. Hook had felt strongly for few people in his life, and his mother was someone he felt the strongest emotions for. Before his amnesia, Peter had been much better about blocking his mental contact with Hook. But now, Peter's mind was almost blank, possibly damaged from what Hook had done to him when he'd disposed of Pan. He's wide open to me… I can sense him so much easier right now. 'Perhaps he's too sensitive to me, and he doesn't remember how to withdraw and shield himself. Shimi, you bitch! Damn you for not preparing me properly, and damn me for not asking you enough questions.'  
  
"Please, daddy," Peter's shaky voice pulled him once again from his thoughts. "I don't like her, she's mean. She hurt you a lot and she made you cry."  
  
"Peter, you and I are going to have to figure out how to block each other better. Its not right for us to see each other's memories." 'And if you ever see my memories of Peter Pan…' If there was someone else he felt strongly about, it was Pan. "We need to find a way to keep from feeling what the other feels, so we don't get confused about who's memories are who's."  
  
Peter nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly with his father. He never wanted to see his grandmother again, especially not in his head like that.  
  
When Smee came back, Hook let the man fuss over Peter. The old man had a way about him that soon had Peter laughing and smiling again. Peter told him how he felt about his grandmother, and the old man smiled in understanding. The woman in that portrait gave him the shakes too. "Peter, lad, ya can call me Poppy, if ya wants… er, and if th' Cap'n don't mind. T'was what I called me own grandsire when I was a wee lad like yerself. Never had a child meself, and no grandsons ta call me that."  
  
Hook nodded as he stood before the curtains, considering. "That's fine, Smee, if Peter wishes that relationship with you. But on deck he'll address you as Mr. Smee or Bosun."  
  
Peter grinned. He'd much rather have sweet Mr. Smee as a grandparent than that hateful woman. "I'd like that, Poppy." Smee beamed.  
  
"Bosun," Hook said quietly, "take my son out on deck and introduce him to the rest of the crew. Don't leave his side for an instant, I need to assess if he remembers anything about living on a ship. I'll be outside shortly."  
  
"Aye, Cap'n," Smee said as he took the boy by the hand. "C'mon lad, Billy-boy's outside and th' rest o' th' crew can't wait ta meetcha!"  
  
When the door closed behind them, Hook opened the curtains, flinching at the portrait as he always did. He'd become so accustomed to that response that he'd not noticed he did it in a long time. He took a moment to study her face, seeing with fresh eyes why Peter had been so terrorized. 'Peter Pan proved to me that you could hate someone and love them too. I concentrated on my love for my mother, because that is what a dutiful son must feel for his mother. I denied I hated her, but I see now that I do. Peter felt it and recognized it when I would not. I hate her for the fear she instilled in me, for her manipulations and her stiff pride.'  
  
"Hello, mother," he said to the portrait. "That little boy you just met is my new son, Peter Hook. I see that you gave him the same welcome you always gave Jasper and I. Don't worry, he's adopted, so none of my blood flows in his veins. He'll not inherit the corruption my father passed to me, so you needn't hate him." Hook sighed a bit. "My life has changed, gradually at first as Peter and I came to accept one another. But the bulk of the change came in a single instant, when I hurt him in a way no human being has a right to hurt another… and it wasn't the first time I hurt him like that. But it will be the last. You were right, mother. I am a bastard and I don't deserve anyone's love. But Peter loves me anyway, and he came to love me before I wiped his mind. If that wild child could find something in me worth loving, then surely I'm not the man you always told me I'd become. And I love him, more than I've ever allowed myself to love anyone else.  
  
"Which is why you have to go, mother," Hook continued as he removed the portrait from its hallowed place on the wall. "I won't have you terrorizing him and breaking his spirit. He won't become a monster like I am. He'll be a great man, a great pirate. He'll be cultured, learned, honorable, superiour in every way. But I won't crush the compassion from his heart as you did to me. Thanks to Shimi, I have that spark again, that pity in my heart that makes me human, and I will not lose it again." He carefully removed the canvas from its frame and stared at the face painted upon it. She looked even angrier than before.   
  
"A new life, Mother, for both of us. A life with happiness and love, a life I've always wanted but you told me I could never have. It will be easier when you're gone, and you no longer haunt me." He rolled the canvas up, securing it with a bit of string before carrying it to a trunk in a corner of his cabin. "I'm letting you go, Mother, to make room for Peter. Rest in peace." He laid the portrait inside the trunk, next to Cecilia's parasol and the worn clothes Peter had worn when he had been abducted. Hook smiled a bit and lifted out the tattered cloak, remembering how Peter once flew through the sky, crowing. Then he replaced it carefully and closed the lid of the trunk, locking it securely.   
  
He felt something dark fall from his heart when he heard the click of the lock. Hiding his mother's picture away wouldn't purge her influences from him, or change him instantaneously. But it would help him leave the past behind, as he'd decided to leave everything in this trunk behind. Like cutting away a fouled anchor, putting her out of his mind would let him move forward. 'Perhaps I'll have a portrait made of Peter to hang on the wall in her place. Or better yet, a father-son portrait as a commemoration of our new family.' For once the word 'family' didn't convey dark images of his mother, father and brother. Instead, he saw a blue-eyed boy with brown hair, and it gave him heart.  
  
He heard childish laughter outside, heard Peter's and Billy's voices raised in a sea-chanty, Peter's words hesitant as he learned the song. Hook put his hat on and went to the door, thoughts of his dear mother fading as he eagerly anticipated showing Peter his new world. Then he was out on deck, smiling proudly as they began their new life, together.


End file.
